“Marco.”
What the hell? “Father?”
I roll over in bed and standing there next to me is my father.
“What are you doing son?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing?”
“Do you love her, Marco?”
“What the hell? You come all the way back from the dead to ask me that? Why don’t you tell me how to get back in the driver’s seat and win at Daytona? Thanks to you being dead that’s what I have to do now or your legacy is gone. How about that?”
“I don’t care about my legacy son, I’m dead, remember?”
“Well I do because I’m still alive and I want to keep racing. So how do I keep it all together and win at the Daytona 500?”
“Do you love her?”
“I don’t know, Father. I love racing, that’s what I love.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what happened between your mother and me?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, getting impatient.
“Your mother loved me dearly, with her heart and soul,” he replies. “But I loved racing with all my heart and soul, and your mother got tired of being second.”
“If she really did,” I argue, “Then why’d she leave you for another man?”
“Because he promised she would be first in his life and racing second,” he says.
“Hell, that was an easy promise for him to keep. You discredited him, ruined his reputation and fired him. She was all he had left so of course he put her first.”
“That’s not the real story, son.”
“What is the real story then?” I ask, not really wanting to hear it.
“He quit and moved back to Italy where her family owned an auto parts business and he partnered with her father. They have been happily married for over twenty years.”
“Why are you telling me all this now?” I ask, completely bewildered. My father never shares his personal life with me, so why now?
“Because you are about to make the same mistake as me. I am trying to save you from the life I have lived. All the trophies, the awards and accolades mean nothing if you don’t have someone to share it with.”
“But you have your team, Team Panata. You always told me they’re your family. You share your victories with them.”
“You’re wrong Marco. They’re my family, but I’m not their family. They have their own wives and children to go home to. They share our victories at the track with them. I would give up every single win to have your mother back. I’d do it in a heartbeat. Whatever you’re planning on doing son, don’t do it. Do whatever you have to do to put Carrie first. No woman worth having will settle for second place for very long. I failed you in my life so I hope that I won’t continue to fail you in my death.”
“I don’t know what to say. I just can’t give up racing. There has to be another way...”
“There is no other way. Goodbye son. I love you.”
“Father!”
“Marco?”
“What?”
“Marco it’s me Carrie...wake up. You’re having a nightmare. You were shouting for your father when I came in. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I was just having this dream about my father and it was so real. He was standing right where you are now and we were talking. I’ve never had a dream so real. So lifelike...”
“So what did he say to you?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “It’s all a blur...”
“Well if you remember I’d love to hear what he told you.”
“Yeah, me too...”
Chapter Thirteen
Together
“If the lion didn’t bite the tamer every once in a while it wouldn’t be exciting…” Darrell Waltrip
Carrie
Marco and I are heading towards the Beachcomber, a swanky Daytona Beach hotel near the water. During race season you spend so much time going from one place to the next you just live out of your team trailers. They’re nice, but they’re small and pretty soon you start to feel claustrophobic; well at least I do. It turns out Marco feels the same way. That’s why we chose a suite on the top floor of the Beachcomber. We’ll be able to spread out, relax and enjoy ourselves.
As much as I admire and respect Marco, there are things about him that are cause for concern. Why ism’t he grieving for the loss of his father? Why isn’t he more upset about being benched? Sure, he had the one afternoon flip out, but that’s all. It leads me to believe he is planning on doing what Dr. Nguyen claims he is planning on doing. I have to put a stop to it.
“What is up with you?” Marco asks.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I reply.
We get to our room, and I flop down on a spacious, unbelievably soft couch and flash a weary smile. “Sorry Marco. I know how you hate it, but we have to talk.”
“What makes you think I hate that?” he replies.
“Well let’s see...since your father died, you haven’t said more than a dozen words about it. You’ve been benched from racing and other than a one-time freak show moment you’ve said nothing. Marco, you hate to talk.”
“I do not!”
“Okay, prove it. Tell me what your life’s goal is after you’re too old to race.”
“Probably the grave since I’m going to be racing like my father only much older.”
“Seriously? You don’t have a plan B? What if you’re in an accident?”
“Okay, stop it right there. The second a driver makes plans for a plan B, he needs a plan B. That’s the fastest way to jinx a driver.”
“You don’t have any other goals beyond winning at Daytona? What is there to look forward to if you win this year?”
“Okay fine. I wasn’t going to tell anyone... I want to have my own racing team.”
“Don’t you already have that in Team Panata?” I ask.
“Team Panata is a team my father built. I want to build my own team from the ground up and I don’t want it connected to my father’s team in any way. I want to build my own racing empire. That is my ultimate goal, Carrie.”
“So have you taken any steps towards making that happen?” I ask.
“Well, I kind of have a protégé that I’ve taken under my wing. He was street racing in Fontana California. He would win anywhere from 500 to 10,000 a night. Of course every penny would go into his car. I introduced him to NASCAR a few years ago; let him do a few laps on one of our back up cars. He did well. It’s not the kind of racing he’s used to but he’ll learn. I’d like him to be my premiere driver on my team one day. The sooner I can make that happen the better. Those kids down there on the streets of Fontana risk their lives every weekend for spare change. Kid’s gonna wind up dead.”
“Wow, well there you go. You have your first driver. Now you just have to figure out how to get some sponsors to fund the team.”
“You got any idea how much it takes to keep one car racing? To field just one driver and the team to support him and the cars comes out to about three million a year.”
“I like it when you talk about the future beyond racing Marco. It’s a huge turn on.”
“Is that so?” Marco begins to scoot himself across towards me.
He reaches out and touches my knee and the feeling’s electric. In an instant all other thoughts fade back into the recesses of my mind allowing me to just focus on how this man makes me feel. He moves in for a kiss. Our lips touch, clothes scatter in every direction. It’s like we can’t get at each other’s bodies fast enough. I lose track of time and become incapable of rational thought as I follow where my body leads, giving in to desires I never even knew existed.
I have no idea how much time has passed when my other senses return to my body and I am able to function again. I look around me. It looks like a whirlwind swept through here leaving everything untouched save our clothes. Marco’s face down, snoring into a pillow. I regard his sleeping form for a minute. He doesn’t have a farmer’s tan like many drivers do. His skin is perfectly tanned, a light golden brown.
I let my eyes caress his body, unwilling to wake him just yet. It’s not often I have the chance to really get a good look at him.
Two hours later, I’m sitting on the balcony sipping a second cup of coffee and contemplating my life. Marco has gone to a team meeting so I am left to my own devices for now. The Daytona 500 is in three weeks. If Marco races he forces me into a decision I’m not sure I am ready to make. I have three choices really. One, I can remove myself from the equation and not show up for race day. Two, I could blow the whistle on Marco and that’ll be the end of his NASCAR career, or I can show up for duty and support him any way I am able. I keep telling myself there must be a fourth option that I can happily live with but none comes to mind. The closer it gets to race day the more stressed I’m going to become and I’m not sure I can hide that from Marco. I’m a terrible liar, always have been.
Chapter Fourteen
A New Level
“Driving a race car is like dancing with a chainsaw…” Cale Yarborough
Carrie
The next couple weeks are a blur of extreme highs punctuated by super highs. Marco finally opens up to me about his father and what it’s like living in his shadow, especially when he still has not lived up to the legend or his own fans expectations of him. I could never understand Danny, but I think I finally understand Marco. The angry outbursts that were Marco have faded into the past and have been replaced by the patience of a saint and a love beyond anything I could have ever dreamed of. We explore one another’s deepest passions just about every night and Marco’s ability to understand my body and what I need even before I know it myself is uncanny. I swear, if I suddenly died today I would not have a single regret—now how many people can say that?
But the bubble has burst and reality comes crashing down around my ears. The hotel staff just dropped off a package for me to sign. A courier delivered it moments ago and I wouldn’t have given it second thought had I not seen the office it came from: Hansen Neurological Associates. I know that name. Dr. Hansen is the doctor who gave Danny his bogus medical release and ultimately got him killed.
I can feel the blood leave my face. Suddenly I can’t breathe anymore. A package from Doctor Hansen can mean only one thing. Marco has chosen to cheat the system in order to race coming Sunday.
“Dammit!”
How dare he put me in this position? He should have had the damn package delivered to his trailer or something, not to me. Now I have to make a decision I’m not prepared to make nor do I want to make it. I collapse on the couch, package in hand. What am I going to do? He is forcing my hand. Marco is making me support him. And if I don’t support him then he forces me to be responsible for the entire Team Panata who will all lose their jobs when he can’t continue racing. I can’t believe he would do this to me. This is the whole reason he has been so sweet to me these past ten days. It’s the reason he’s been so open and honest. It was just a show to get me on his side so that when this came I would keep my mouth shut. Well guess what Marco, your plan failed. I know the truth.
I grab a knife from the kitchen with the intention of opening the package but for some reason I don’t carry through with it. I guess a part of me still believes Marco wouldn’t do this to me. A part of me believes he is innocent and he isn’t trying to cheat the system. On impulse I start searching through his things piled on the desk in the study. I’m not sure what I’m looking for if anything. I just can’t stand to sit here and do nothing though so I’m searching his belongings. When I get to his clothes I find an envelope folded up and in one of his jacket pockets. Curious I take it out.
It’s from Fidelity Retirement Services. It’s already been opened so I take a peak. It’s a statement of activity on his retirement account. I resist the temptation to look at the balance; it’s none of my business after all. But I do go through his transaction records and find something very curious. He seems to have liquidated significant stock holdings and had the cash wired to his primary checking account. The amount is a little over $50,000! Holy crap, what does he need that much for? Two seconds later it dawns on me. This is the money he is probably paying the doctor to provide the fake medical release forms. It all makes perfect sense. There’s another envelope from his bank. I start to open it. I’m sure it’s the withdrawal of 50k. He probably has to pay cash to the doctor to keep it off books. I don’t need to see any more. I know exactly what’s going on here. Now I just have to figure out what I’m going to do about it.
I don’t know how long I sit at the desk, envelope in my hands and lost in thought before I finally can move again. I look up at the clock. Shit! Marco’s gonna be home any minute. I don’t think I want to be here when he comes home. In fact, I’m sure I don’t want to be here when he comes here. He’ll see it written all over my face. He’ll know I’m onto him and it’s going to get ugly. These last ten days or so have been heaven, I do not want to see hell. I have to go.
I take one last look around before closing the door behind me. I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but what I do know is that I can’t be a part of the deception. I may not say anything to NASCAR authorities, but either way we’re done. No more Marco and me. Tears stream down my face as I race across the hotel lobby and get into one of the taxis parked outside. Fifteen minutes later I’m standing in the lobby of the Daytona Beach Holiday Inn. The driver was right. This one’s in a different world from the Beachcomber but I really could care less.
About the time I’m walking into my new room my phone is ringing. It’s Marco. I ignore it and collapse on the bed, bury my face in the pillows and cry for all I’m worth. How could he do exactly what Danny did? He knew everything I went through with Danny yet he still did it anyway. I should have known it. Racing will always come before me, he just proved it. My phone rings again. This time it’s Rachael. He probably called her to enlist in her help. I really don’t feel like talking to her either. As high as the high was these last days with Marco don’t begin to compare with the low I’m feeling now. He’s crushed my spirit and my soul. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from this one. I’ll lose my job for starters when I don’t show up for Daytona, but at this point, that’s just a side note to a tragic story. I don’t know how long it takes, but finally I manage to cry myself to sleep.
It’s dark when I wake to the sound of my phone’s incessant ringing. I look at the numbers. Danny has called eleven times, Rachael five times, Harvey three times, and there’s a half dozen other numbers I don’t recognize. Wow, people really want me to keep my mouth shut looks like. I skip dinner and go back to sleep.
It’s nearly eleven when I finally wake again. Marco will be at the track getting ready for qualifying on Thursday. That explains why he’s only called 5 times today. I erase all my voice mails without even listening to them. I don’t want to subject myself to him begging, trying to convince me to take him back. Instead I just curl up under the covers and go back to sleep.
That’s how I spend the next several days. Sleeping, ordering room service, and more sleep. I don’t know any other way to handle my depression after what has happened. On race day I wake up a dawn. My body’s internal clock won’t let me miss the most important race of Marco’s life. A day that would have been equally important to me had things been different. By starting time there’s a pounding on my door.
“What the hell?”
I approach the door cautiously. I’m not sure if I should even answer or not. I walk quietly up to the door and look out the peep hole. What I see makes my mouth drop open. It’s Rachael and Harvey. How the hell is he racing without a spotter?
“Come on Carrie, we know you’re in there. Open up! We have something you’re gonna want to see.”
I freeze. I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to find my voice or my muscles.
“Carrie, there’s been a huge misunderstanding,” hollers Harvey. “Marco needs you.”
“Just open up and I can explain,” shouts my best friend.
I’m just about to go back to b
ed when she pulls something out of her purse and holds it up so I can see. It’s an envelope from NASCAR officials. May as well get this over with. I unlock the door and let them in.
“Carrie you look like hell!” Rachael observes.
“Well it hasn’t been a picnic. So why’re you guys here on race day?”
“You were wrong about Marco. He wasn’t trying to cheat the system.”
“Really? Well sorry to say, but I saw the proof the day I split. He is trying to cheat and he spent $50,000 doing it.”
Rachael digs around in her handbag. “Is this the proof you saw?” she asks, holding up the envelope from the doctor as well as the bank statement I saw. She also produces a third envelope, one from NASCAR officials. I don’t know what to say.
“Carrie did you actually read what was in these envelopes or did you just see the outside and jump to conclusions?”
She has me there. “I didn’t need to read all the details—” I begin before she cuts me off.
“Well you should have. It would have saved you a weeks’ worth of crying for starters.”
I snatch one of the envelopes out of her hands. It’s Marco’s bank statements. The one I saw and one from yesterday. With shaking hands I pour over the first statement. It shows a deposit of $50,012.23. If that’s not proof...I look at the statement dated yesterday. Strangely the $50,012.23 is still in there. In fact there hasn’t been a withdrawal for weeks.
“I don’t understand...” I mutter.
“The money you think he used to pay off the doctor, it never happened,” Rachael says.
I grab the envelope from Hansen and Associates. “Yeah, well explain why he’s got a package from the same corrupt doctor that cleared Danny!” I tear it open. I can’t wait to see the evidence and prove her wrong.
Carrie grabs my hands. “Look at the names,” she says. I look to where her finger is pointing. Dr. Elias K Hanson.
“What the hell?”
“Carrie, what was the doctor’s name that cleared Danny?” Harvey asks.
Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 9
